“Magic,” said Shackleton, firmly. “I have been thinking about it and I believe Green is right. There is some sort of spell operating upon the books, and upon us.”

“A spell!” Mr Murray opened his eyes wide. “Yes, I suppose it must be. I have never experienced magic at first hand before. I do not think that I shall be in any great hurry to do so again. It is most eerie and unpleasant. How in the world is a man to know what to do when nothing behaves as it should?”

“Well,” said Shackleton, “if I were you I would begin by consulting with the other booksellers and discover if their books are disappearing too, then at least we will know if the problem is a general one or confined to us.”

This seemed like good advice. So leaving the shop in charge of the office-boy, Mr Murray and Shackleton put on their hats and went out into the wind and rain. The nearest bookseller was Edwards and Skittering in Piccadilly. When they got there they were obliged to step aside to make way for a footman in blue livery. He was carrying a large pile of books out of the shop.

Mr Murray had scarcely time to think that both footman and livery looked familiar before the man was gone.

Inside they found Mr Edwards deep in conversation with John Childermass. As Murray and Shackleton came in, Mr Edwards looked round with a guilty expression, but Childermass was just as usual. “Ah, Mr Murray!” he said. “I am glad to see you, sir. This spares me a walk in the rain.”

“What is happening?” demanded Mr Murray. “What are you doing?”

“Doing? Mr Norrell is purchasing some books. That is all.”

“Ha! If your master means to suppress Mr Strange’s book by buying up all the copies, then he will be disappointed. Mr Norrell is a rich man but he must come to the end of his fortune at last and I can print books as fast as he can buy them.”

“No,’ said Childermass. “You can’t.”

Mr Murray turned to Mr Edwards. “Robert, Robert! Why do you let them tyrannize over you in this fashion?”

Poor Mr Edwards looked most unhappy. “I am sorry, Mr Murray, but the books were all disappearing. I have had to give more than thirty people their money back. I stood to lose a great deal. But now Mr Norrell has offered to buy up my entire stock of Strange’s book and pay me a fair price for them, and so I …”

“Fair?” cried Shackleton, quite unable to bear this. “Fair? What is fair about it, I should like to know? Who do you suppose is making the books disappear in the first place?”

“Quite!” agreed Mr Murray. Turning to Childermass, he said, “You will not attempt to deny that all this is Norrell’s doing?”